


It Will Be Alright

by Lith_Ithilwa



Series: Neranka/Annelise/Sheava [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anders (Dragon Age) Positive, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Neranka/Annelise/Sheava worldstate, Romance, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lith_Ithilwa/pseuds/Lith_Ithilwa
Summary: ** Contains SPOILERS for "In Between Worlds" **TW: depression, panic attackThis is a slice of Sheava’s state of mind after the events of DAI/Trespasser, when she could use Anders’ love the most. With the resources available to her from the Inquisition, she has renewed her search...
Relationships: Anders/Sheava
Series: Neranka/Annelise/Sheava [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764499
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	It Will Be Alright

**Author's Note:**

> CONTEXT: Sheava Pairanel is a normally happy-go-lucky, life if the party, sunny and bubbly Dalish elf that joins Neranka, Alistair and the rest of the party during the Origins timeline. She is clan-orphaned by the Blight, and happened upon the same clan as the party did. Hoping to find her brother, she travels with the Warden party.
> 
> During Awakening timeline, she tags along with Neranka to help out. There, she meets Anders and they get into a relationship. She follows him to Kirkwall, helping him using some of her herbal knowledge. She pretty much oversees the clinic when he’s off on quests with Annelise Hawke.
> 
> After the events of Kirkwall, Anders leaves, not wishing a life as a fugitive for her. She spends the next four years searching for him, eventually settling with the Lavellan clan, who send her to the Conclave. There, she becomes Inquisitor -- and the sunny, bubbly, free-spirited prankster has to quickly adjust to having so much rest on her shoulders, with so many people depending on her. Having mostly given up hope of ever seeing Anders again, she rashly enters into a relationship with Solas - which leaves her broken in more ways than one.

* * *

  
“No. No. Crap. No. More crap...”

Sheava was going through report after report, tossing them aside one by one, when Neranka walked into the War Room that morning.

“Utter bullshit. Even more crap. Just no...”

“Sheava? Are you okay?”

Sheava jumped at Neranka’s intrusion of her bubble. She was usually much more perceptive than that and should have heard her coming from down the hall - especially considering she had left the huge brass doors opened. She shouldn’t do that, but it was such a hassle to open and close them now that she mostly didn’t bother.

“Neranka. Come in. I’m fine, you?”

“I’m fine, thank you, but you certainly _don’t_ seem fine.”

She gave Neranka a look of annoyance. It hadn’t been a good day so far, and she was in one of those moods. She’d been having a lot of them recently, and they’ve only been getting worse.

“Well, if you must know, all these reports are absolute boring crap. I can’t make sense of half of them, or figure out a response to the other half. And this one? It’s just--”

She fumbled as she flipped through the papers, sending a pile of them flying to the ground. She tried to catch them, but her hand wasn’t quick enough, nor did it have the proper grasp to do so. She couldn’t help the fleeting thought that if she would’ve still had the other one, she’d have caught it easily. She let out a loud groan of frustration and slammed her hand on the table, startling Neranka as it rattled the various cups and objects on it. Jaw set, she stared straight ahead across the room, a steely gaze that could’ve shook any demon to its very core.

“Utter. Bullshit,” she said, stressing each word through gritted teeth.

With a swipe of the arm, she cleared the table of every remaining object, sending everything tumbling to the ground haphazardly. She then squeezed her eyes shut and sank into the chair behind her.

“Sheava...”

“Don’t.”

“Sheava, please. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

Sheava remained silent. She had changed, that much was true. How could she have not, considering everything that happened?

“The Sheava I knew wouldn’t have let herself get beaten down so easily,” Neranka continued. “She would have--”

“That Sheava died a long time ago.”

“You know as well as I that’s not true,” Neranka said in a clipped tone. “So life threw you for a loop. It’s done that before, and you’ve always come out on top. Maker’s Breath, you even fixed a damn hole in the sky with a better attitude than this! Where’s your spark, your smile, your sunny attitude? You can’t just let that disappear.”

Sheava didn’t comment on any of that. Instead, she asked what has been at the forefront of her mind these past few months.

“Any news from Anders yet?”

She heard Neranka’s heavy sigh. Even though her eyes were still closed, she could feel her look of disappointment drilling into her. After a few moments, she spoke again, her voice having recovered its typical Warden-Commander business tone.

“Not yet, no. Leliana has many ravens out asking around for anyone who might have sighted him. So far, they’ve been coming back empty, but she sends more out daily. If he’s out there, we’ll find him. As for the meeting today, I have some letters I’ll need to run pass you before I send word back to the Keep. Recruiting seems to be going well, and we have quite a few people wanting to join. I’ll need to take a leave of absence soon to visit the Keep and overview the Joining. Considering things are currently quiet here, I think this would be a good time to do so. Alistair can take my place on the Council while I’m away.”

Sheava sat back up, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands - or rather, her right eye with the palm of her right hand. It still regularly came as a shock to her that there was no opposite movement to her actions. The phantom limb syndrome did not help any of it either. She sighed, and rubbed her left eye with her right palm, then blinked a few times as she reopened them.

“I’m done for the day.” She stood up to walk out of the room.

“What? Sheava, we haven’t even started yet. The others will be here soon--”

“I don’t care.”

Neranka reached and grabbed her wrist. “You can’t not care, Sheava. You’re the _Inquisitor_. You have responsibilities, and you have to do your duties, like it or not.”

She shook Neranka off. “Yeah? Well those duties _cost me my arm_!”

“Oh, Sheava. Is this what this is about? Your arm?”

She puffed out her cheeks as she passed both of her hands through her hair. Sheava flinched. How could such a simple gesture make her feel like she’s been punched in the gut?

“Listen, Sheava, I understand the pressure of being thrust into a position you didn’t want or felt prepared for, and needing to step up, but--”

“No. You do _not_ understand. All the crap... I am _so done_ with it all. Meeting adjourned.”

She turned on her heels and walked out of the war room, down the main hall, and into the courtyard, steadily increasing her speed. The fresh air assaulted her lung as she tried to hold back her tears. She knew that her words had been harsh. Neranka didn’t deserve them. She’d been through a lot of crap too, and yet she’d been nothing but supportive through it all, ever since their days fighting the Blight. Sheava just couldn’t help it. She was angry and bitter, and she took it out on her friend.

She went through the arch under the main stairs to avoid the upper courtyard. That was the problem with being Inquisitor - everyone always needed something. She cursed as she almost fell a few times rushing down the cobbled stairs. She still hadn’t mastered consistent balance; she wondered if she ever would. She, a skilled and stealthy archer, unable to do something as simple as keep her balance going down a flight of stairs. It was frustrating - no, completely disheartening. She would never hold a bow again. Never go hunting. Never sneak as well as she used to. Nor play her mother’s flute ever again. It was the one thing that brought her solace and kept her connected to her lost clan... and it was gone. All of that, just gone. She still felt sick to the stomach everytime she thought back on the events of the last year, how Solas had betrayed them - betrayed _her_. She could still vividly recall the moment he had taken a chunk of her identity away. How she pleaded with him not to do it, that there must be another way. Everything that defined her, that shaped her into who she was... Gone.

She collapsed against the wall and took in big gulps of air, unable to keep going under the panic attack that was quickly taking a hold of her. _Don’t think about it, Sheava. It’s no use._ But she couldn’t not think about it. Even now as she stood in the lower courtyard, the world spinning around her in a dizzying whirlwind, her left arm sorely ached with phantom limb syndrome. How does one forget about a limb that so desperately wanted to make sure you never did? She squeezed her eyes shut, chasing the image away, but it wouldn’t leave.

“Sheava?”

She ignored the voice. Maybe if she remained like this, the person would simply lose interest and go away.

“Maker’s Breath... Sheava.” She heard a thump as something fell to the floor. “What happened?”

She finally looked up, set on telling the person off. Except it wasn’t some random person seeking her attention standing there. Her breath caught in her lungs, and she brought her hand to her mouth.

Anders.

His robes were tattered, and his pack, which he had let fall to the ground, had seen better days. He looked rather worse for the wear himself, his whole body caked with dust and in desperate need of a haircut. But he was here. _Her_ Anders.

She let out a small sob and ran straight into his arms, burrowing her face into his neck as they fell to their knees. All her tears of desperation that she had been working so hard to contain for months flooded out of her body in a tsunami of grief and relief. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t even be mad that he had left, and that she had spent the last eight years praying to every God, even the Maker, that she would find him again someday.

“Anders... I thought you were dead! I had given up hope...”

“I’m not dead, I’m right here.” She could feel his own tears dropping onto her cheeks, mixing with hers. “Sheava, what in the Maker’s Name happened? Your arm...”

It was a simple question, one that he would inevitably ask. To Sheava though, it served as a reminder that she had only one arm to wrap around him. She sobbed harder.

“The Anchor. It was killing me. Solas said it was the only way... I begged him not to do it.”

“Oh, Sheava...”

“I begged him!”

“I’m so sorry.”

He gently stroked her head, the brown dirt encrusted on his fingers mixing in with the pure white of her hair. He pulled her in his lap, kissing her forehead, and she clutched onto him tighter.

“You’re not dead,” she repeated softly.

“And neither are you.” He held her closer still. “I’m so sorry I left.”

“You’re here now.”

“I’m here. It will be alright, Shea, I promise.”

And she believed him. He was here, he was alive, and she was no longer alone. It would be alright.


End file.
